


shouldn't have worn that dress

by thatotherperv



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always the Opposite Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, Het, Stranger Sex, girl!Jensen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-25
Updated: 2010-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatotherperv/pseuds/thatotherperv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>girl!Jensen discovers the joy of living panty-less when she meets a toppy stranger on the subway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shouldn't have worn that dress

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I wrote j2 again. but this was response to a prompt, so I tell myself it doesn’t count. just like the last one doesn’t count, which was in response to spnkink...you know, what happens in anonymous meme, stays in anonymous meme. this was posted anonymously two, three weeks ago [here](http://community.livejournal.com/blindfold_spn/2172.html?thread=2437500#t2437500). then reposted at my journal [here](http://thatotherperv.livejournal.com/274497.html)
> 
> As for the title...yes, I went there. that one’s for you, meretrix :P
> 
>  **Warnings/Notes** : anonymous public sex. exhibitionism. possibly viewed as dubcon. genderfuck in the form of a Jensen who’s always been female...hell, it’s not like we don’t feminize the shit out of him anyway, might as well finish the job, right? *snorfle* and spotty writing quality, born from anonymity, haha

At first, it was just for laundry day. Maybe the first time it was poor planning on her part...she opened up her underwear drawer one Sunday and realized she had literally dirtied every last pair. She was embarrassed by the draft on the way to the laundromat, but there was something about it....

She started procrastinating the chore, accidentally on purpose 'forgetting' until she had no choice but to go without. Back then, she'd still needed the excuse. Then one day, she procrastinated so badly that she ran out of panties when she was too busy to wash clothes. So she had to go to work without them.

She'd learned pretty quickly what a bad idea _that_ was. She'd been horribly distracted. All day long, she'd gotten strange looks, and her coworkers said things like, "Jen, are you feeling ok?" and "Seriously, I need your input on this." But she'd been totally useless.

She was known for being focused, professional, and a bit of an ice princess because she turned down every colleague who'd ever asked her out. But that day, she couldn't get her mind off what was going on between her legs. Couldn't stop thinking the hot college intern or the single dad in accounting or her distinguished older boss. Any one of them could've flipped up her skirt and bent her over, and there would've been nothing to stop them. Not her panties, and as horny as she was, not her iron-clad will power either.

And none of them had any idea.

She'd soaked her skirt right through by lunchtime. She was just lucky it was black, or it would've been obvious for anyone to see.

The idea of _that_ shamed her as much as it turned her on. It had been so important to her, early in her career, to be respected. But now, sometimes...she regretted her reputation. They thought she was a robot.

As...enjoyable as going free around the office had been, she knew she couldn't do it again without losing her edge at work.

But that same day, she discovered the subway.

Well...she didn't _discover_ the subway, she rode it to work on a daily basis just like all other New Yorkers. But she'd never fully appreciated the anonymity. The press of so many strangers had always been invasive, but that day it was such a relief from nine solid hours of wanting to be touched. She stood in the crowded car, and no one knew that she was slick and bare under her business attire. That there was one less layer of fabric between her and the businessman that got pushed into her from behind.

The ass of her skirt was still damp from a day of being needy, and she wondered if the crotch of his slacks would pick up the scent of her.

After that, she stopped using laundry as an excuse. _Going without_ , as she called it in her head, became a conscious decision. She'd run little errands, but she knew very well that the whole point was just to get on the subway. And for the first time in years, she played up her assets. When she was young, she'd resented the way men often couldn't look past her ass or tits or pretty little mouth, but being hit on was fun, when she could feel a breeze up her increasingly short skirt and know that they were closer to their goal than they ever imagined.

Not that she ever actually _did_ anything. But she liked the way they looked at her like she was someone who _would_.

 

* * *

 

She’d had a bad day at the office. There was a new guy in their department who’d been after her for weeks, trying to bully, beg or sweet talk his way into a date. She was sure he’d been warned. _Jenny Ackles? Dude, don’t even think about it. Better men have tried and failed_.

Regardless of her private regrets, she wouldn’t date at the office...it was hard enough being female, young and successful all at once, and _because_ of her image, one yes would equal open season. Even if he was worth it...which Chad definitely wasn’t.

He wouldn’t take a hint. Or an outright refusal. Or a lightly veiled threat. By the time she got home, she felt awful.

So she got dolled up, to get her fix. By the time she made her way back out into the underground, it was still peak rush hour...which was just what she wanted. By the time she let herself be pushed with foot traffic onto the train, she’d been whistled at twice and propositioned by a stock broker.

She’d never developed the balance that native New York women seemed to achieve on a moving car wearing four-inch heels, so she pushed her way over to one of the poles that—while probably filthy—would give her something substantial to hold onto.

“Would you like my seat?”

It didn’t register at first that he was talking to _her_. She never paid attention to anything that was said around her on the subway, because it was always directed at the person’s kids or husband or friend. No one talked to strangers. And definitely, she’d never been offered a seat before.

But when warm knuckles brushed the outside of her thigh, _that_ got her attention in a hurry.

Even more disconcerting than the offer and the borderline inappropriate touch was the smile he gave her when she jerked around to look down at him. A wide, genuine, toothpaste-commercial grin, complete with dimples.

When she just stared—jesus, he was hot—he just smiled a little broader. “Did you want to sit down?”

She honestly didn’t even know how he fit those long limbs into the crush of the seating. She felt a kick of homesickness when she saw that he was wearing Wranglers, and worn-in boots.

Tourist. Had to be.

“No,” she finally managed. “I’m fine.” She turned away from him abruptly and watched in the corner of her eye as his smile faded.

He sat back, but her stupid heart wouldn’t stop pounding. In her peripheral vision she saw him studying her for the next two stops, not even trying to hide his interest in her body.

She wondered if he saw what it was doing to her...suspected that he did. She knew she was getting flushed. She was slick and light-headed, and eventually, she had to turn a little further away so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch him watch her.

Not that it helped. She could feel his eyes.

He made her self-conscious, for the first time, of whether her short skirt was possibly _too_ short. She knew he was staring at her ass. She couldn’t tell if he was getting more of a show than she’d intended to give him.

But as soon as the thought came, she realized it just excited her more.

When she realized the origin of the tickling sensation on her inner thigh, she was mortified. She’d become so wet that she was actually _dripping_ down her leg. She tried to stop its progress by pressing her thighs together, but that only made things worse; she was hot and swollen and the pressure of clenching her muscles only stimulated her.

Her grip on the pole tightened as she felt moisture trickle down her thigh, trying to shift her body subtly enough not to draw attention. But she bit her lip as another drop slid out from under her skirt. She was overheated and her pulse was pounding...so caught up in feeling exposed that for a moment, she actually forgot about the man who’d caused all this.

She jolted hard enough to draw the passing attention of bystanders when a finger brushed her inner thigh right in the path of the slick and traced it back towards its source.

She froze up. Couldn’t pull away, couldn’t turn to look at him, couldn’t ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. But she felt him shift forward in his seat and his fingers only travelled farther up her leg until she was sure he knew just how wet she was.

He wasn’t even touching her cunt yet. But her upper thighs were thick with it, and he played patterns against the skin there like a kid with fingerpaint.

When he suddenly withdrew his hand, she actually whimpered from the disappointment. But it only took a tenth of a second to notice that the car and stopped...and from there, the swift realization that she had lost her goddamn mind. That she’d just let some cowboy feel her up in the middle of two hundred people. She should be grateful that he didn’t push further, because she sure as hell hadn’t planned on stopping him.

So she was on edge and pissed at herself when she heard a familiar, “Ma’am, would you like my seat?” solicitous and polite as though he’d never groped a stranger. She whipped around to chew him a new one just as the crowd jostled her and sent her toppling.

She was hauled up against a warm male body just as she saw the tiny Sicilian grandmother now occupying the cowboy’s seat. He smirked at her, from his new place behind her.

He let her go as soon as she’d found her feet and reached up to grip the horizontal bar as the car started moving. Not that it was really a reach for him...Jesus, he was tall. He was pressed up against her back, but not much closer than normal on a train this crowded, and he never addressed her at all. When nothing inappropriate happened before the next stop, she was a little disappointed.

Then she decided to get a grip on herself and ignore him.

Right. Because he was so easy to ignore.

She could feel him breathing, the regular, easy expansion of his chest against her body. And he practically radiated heat. And against her hip, she could feel the bulge in his blue jeans.

It wasn’t...really...a _conscious_ decision to rub back against it like a cat in heat. And her stomach flipped when a laugh rumbled against her back.

“Bad girl.” She felt it more than she heard it, and she knew she was sopping when his fingers slid between her legs from behind.

He stroked along her slit a few times, back to front to back, almost frictionless because she was so slippery. Then with no warning, he punched two fingers deep inside.

Jen’s forehead pressed against the pole that was keeping her upright, breath hitching as he shifted around inside her cunt. He was all but pinning her from the back by now, pressed so tight that probably—hopefully—nobody could tell what he was doing.

Oh god, this was _happening_. This was actually happening to _her_. She had no idea what to think, but she was so turned on she was shaking.

When he started actually moving, everything else took a backseat. His hips shifted away a little, and he started thrusting inside her, slow, dragging movements that brought his knuckles in contact with the front wall. It felt...she tried to shift away, but he just shifted with her, repeating the motion until the discomfort became something else.

Oh, holy _fuck_.

The train came into another station and his fingers slowed to a firm rocking motion that made her want to beg. People pushed at them from all sides with all the normal chaos, and when she realized, when she really remembered where they were, she felt a new pulse of wetness build around the man’s fingers. It made no sense. Because at the same time, she was mortified.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

The movement of the train pulling out of the station rocked her back on his fingers and this time, it wasn’t slow or teasing. It was hard, fast, and so relentless that she had no idea if she was drawing attention to herself or not. Her entire focus narrowed down to being finger-fucked, just shy of painful, and she felt full, fuller than a couple of fingers should have been able to feel, but maybe that was just because she was so swollen, sensitive and—

It all slammed into her so fast that she saw spots behind her eyelids.

It was funny how fast she came back to herself. Her knees felt watery and her head spun even though she hadn’t worked up the courage to open her eyes yet. But then the car decelerated suddenly and it brought clarity. She realized how fast it had been.

From one stop to the next. That was what...two minutes? Three? She’d been so primed.

The doors opened and people started moving and his fingers shifted and the shock of what had just happened settle in. She shifted away from him and just like that, she was empty.

People were getting on the train and she couldn’t look at him, and without making a conscious decision, she was bolting for the door, sliding out just as they started to close.

She stood on the platform stupidly for a minute, disoriented and blind. She’d had a vague idea of the route that she’d take, but now she was....

Well. The idea of riding around pantyless for a thrill seemed a little. Anticlimactic.

To say the least.


End file.
